Imperfections
by NyxAbsol
Summary: "I am full of mistakes and imperfections and therefore I am real." Dynamis is sick of keeping on the mask, bottling up all his feelings. Exhaustion, pain and anger can push him to breaking point. But that would mean an imperfection. And the very reason why he was like this was because of his flaws.
1. Chapter 1: Behind the Mask

**Wow... This was emotional. I was in a really depressed mood when I write this, so everything in here is going to be melodramatic and plain disgusting. Also, Luna, since you gave me a shout-out, it's fair I gave you one too. Go follow/favourite her or her stories right now. She deserves to be recognized much more than I do.**

**Dynamis: Why do you like to write stories about me? **

**Because you're my favourite character.**

**Dynamis: And yes, Luna deserves more than you because she tortures me less. :D**

**I'm already depressed, Dynamis, go away. Anyway, *happy mode* please enjoy this little one-shot about Dynamis! :)**

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><p>It's funny how people often think I'm perfect. That I have a happy life. That everything is all sunshine and rainbows with me.<p>

Well, let me tell you. It's _not._

Perhaps I misled them, with the fake smile I plaster on every day, the fake smile honed to perfection. Perhaps I misled them with the bright tone I use all the time. Perhaps I just _want_ to mislead them to think that I'm happy.

I'm quite the opposite.

Let me tell you my story, my _real_ story. Not the one that I've invented for myself to keep the mask from slipping.

You'd be surprised about the _true _me.

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><p>I could say that the rain matches my mood. Dark, depressed, gloomy. As always. The image of me is utterly miserable and pathetic- Standing on the dull tarmac path, quaking slightly from the cold, bottom lip quivering ever so slightly, a serious expression on my face, dressed in a set of thin white robes and a worn black jacket. Clutched tightly in my arms is a tattered notebook, and I'm clinging on to it like it's my source of life.<p>

Maybe it's because it's just one thing that keeps me from breaking.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap._

The drops of rain fall to the ground in near- opaque sheets. Even in this frenzy, I still pick out a pattern. Immediately, it's the only thing I concentrate on. _Tap, tap, tap, tap._ One, two, three, four. Don't stop counting. _Tap, tap, tap, tap._

Five, six, seven, eight.

People said I got distracted easily. I just forced a laugh and agreed.

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve.

How would they react if they knew that getting distracted- slipping into a state of semi-consciousness where only one thing matters- that's necessary?

I carefully open the notebook and stare at the faded writing.

_Dear Diary,_

_I'm tempted to. Really tempted._

_Why aren't I doing it? Isn't pain a relief? Won't it distract me from how much I'm hurting inside?_

_I could just do it. The scissors is on the table, the knife close by. The house's dark and empty. So why am I not doing it?_

_Truth is, I'm a coward. I don't want to hurt more than I already do. One more cut means one more flaw in my already "imperfect" self. It's not my fault I was born with this "schizophrenia". It's not my fault that all I see sometimes is darkness._

_I really want a way out from this. Someone please kill me now._

_...Today I learned the proper meaning of "hell"._

Not. My. Fault.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.

So why am I blaming myself? No one asked me to. But I still do.

I feel a lump rising in my throat. I swallow quickly. I was _not_ going to cry. Crying was a sign of cowardice. A sign of weakness.

Most importantly, an imperfection.

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twentytwenty-one. The one irregular beat of the rain, the one out of place. It's flawed, flawed just like me.

Someone I vaguely recognize- I don't know him, I don't care about him- walks past. My reaction's automatic, the mask back on, my expression morphing into a happy smile, no trace of the sadness left. I nod cheerfully at him and he waves back.

As soon as he's gone, the mask falls off silently and the broken, insecure boy behind in returns.

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><p>People often wear a mask. They thought it made them look different- unique, a standout. What's the use if everyone wears one. and it becomes bland, useless?<p>

I wear a mask to be the same- not to stand out.

I hear my father's words echoing in my mind. _"Nothing behind the mask is ever to be revealed."_

Oh, don't worry. It won't.

I blink back tears as my eyes sting.

I pen down yet another entry in the notebook.

_Dear Diary, _

_It hurts trying to be the same as everyone else. I thought that life was a gift- not a living nightmare. But what happens when you're too far gone- your heart is so torn that the only thing you can do is have the mask glued on, deluding yourself that everything is going to be just fine._

_Because it's not. _

_Nothing is ever going to be "normal". Normal like others._

_When you feel useless, you just feel like you don't belong in this world._

_That's how I feel now... Take me away, please, just do it, it's my only request..._

_Because I'm an imperfection..._

"I am full of mistakes and imperfections and therefore I am real..."

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><p><strong>*Hands out virtual cookies* Congratulations for reaching the end of the chapter. Anyway, here's why I'm depressed. Firstly, I had choir trials yesterday. Yes, people, I know I can't sing, and I'm horrible, but you don't have to rub it in. Even the teachers started laughing and whispering at me. Also, I almost skipped it but my dad forced me to go. <strong>

**Dynamis: You freaking deserve it.**

**Nile: I second that. **

**Thanks for adding to my depressed state. Second, I arrived late at school today 'cause my alarm wasn't working. I got a booking. Third, my aesthetics teacher insulted my class and called us "terrible". For those of you who think I'm being melodramatic, fine. I admit I am but I just had a bad two days, OK? I'm a naturally sensitive person. Now, critiques very very very welcome and please review! (PS: I know I suck, people, you don't need to sugarcoat things)**


	2. Chapter 2: Set Free

**Hi, I'm back and I am in an even more depressed mood. Sorry I didn't update this earlier. I finished this yesterday but didn't feel like updating it. (I know, I'm mean.) That is why this chapter is even more dramatic and sad. This is the FINAL CHAPTER by the way. Final. Chapter. It was supposed to be a one-shot but I felt guilty 'cause Gocty asked me to update. I thought I mentioned it in the earlier chapter... never mind. Consider it as a gift (or a punishment for your mind), Gocty. Enjoy this stupid horrible chapter.**

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><p>My name is Dynamis and it's morning again. A fresh new nightmare.<p>

The mask is back, the foreign smile on my face, all traces of misery wiped.

They wouldn't _know_ that, of course. I scoffed slightly at the thought. Gingka -I think that was his name- is talking, chattering on about seemingly useless things. I try to block out his non-stop rambling, making the right noises at the correct times, but I'm not actually listening.

Today's a normal day, I guess. I have exactly three hours, twenty-six minutes and forty seconds of so-called "freedom", and then I return home. House_._ Whatever it is, it isn't a home. It's a living nightmare. I flinch at the thought but regain my composure quickly.

It's not the day that the mask will be taken off.

That day will never come.

I have a quick bey-battle with Tithi before battling everyone else. He insists on battling me every day, no matter what. His enthusiasm makes me smile sometimes, but mostly his childlike innocence instills in me a deep sense of longing. That I could be that free. _Was I ever this innocent?_

My skills are perfect, as usual. Every move I make is thought out, streamlined, dead accurate. But the energy- the blader's spirit that Gingka is obsessed with- isn't fully there. I hide it well, though. And of course I'm good at Beyblade. I have to be perfect, no matter what I do.

_One more mistake means one more hit._

People are envious, I guess. Envious that I'm a good blader, envious that I can just keep that happy personality all the time.

They would never know how wrong they are.

Never knowing what comes next, every step you take is so important, spiraling into a world of madness...

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><p>His name is D.H and he's just everyone's friend. With a great personality, amazing Beyblade skills and a quick, intelligent mind, he was what everyone wanted to be.<p>

He proves that he's a good listener, and he comforts his friends when they're down.

"Aw man..." Tithi groans as Quetzalcoatl lands outside the stadium once again. "You're too strong!"

"It's OK! You could do much better next time," D.H comforts the boy, making him smile. He feels lucky that he has such a great friend.

Everyone does.

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><p>I trudge along the dreary path back to the house, hesitating outside the door for a moment before going inside. The air's slightly stale, the space cramped, as usual. I sigh a little upon realizing that he's not inside.<p>

Yet.

I shiver a little, running a quaking finger over the silver scissors. It's razor-sharp; extremely dangerous. I don't use it. It's just left on my table everyday. Every day I sit, staring at it longingly, wishing I just had the courage to do it. Well...

I had to someday. It was fate, wasn't it?

_He gingerly picks up the scissors and quickly slices his hand, wincing at the pain._

It wasn't that bad. I preferred it- the physical pain- to what I went through every day. It was a relief from the darkness that continuously flashed in front of my eyes.

But then I hear footsteps. My body freezes, blue eyes dilating in pure fear. I can't even attempt to hide the evidence.

He enters- the devil himself, he walked in. He saw the scissors in my hand, the nasty cut in my wrist, blood dripping. His face contorts into pure anger.

_"Imperfect. Worthless. Flawed."_

That is the only thing he is. Nothing more.

He doesn't resist because he knows it won't work anymore.

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><p>D.H walks along the path with his group of friends, easily laughing and chatting with them. The watch he usually wears is on his left hand today. Not his right. But that wasn't important. He thought of what he had today. A long string of bey battles and some talk given by the WBBA. Joy.<p>

He flips open his notebook. His tiny, immaculate handwriting is neatly printed on the page.

-2.00 to 2.20: Bey Battle with Gingka

-2.25 to 2.35: Bey battle with Yuki

-2.40 to 3.00: Bey Battle with Aguma

-3.05 to 3.25: Bey Battle with Kenta

-3.30 to 4.00: Tag battle with Gingka against King and Masamune

-4.10 to 5.10: Bey battle x 3 against Tithi

He scrawls illegibly "5.40-6.40: WBBA conference" below and slams his book shut, stuffing it into his bag. Everyone jumps at the sound and looks at him. He just grunts, tired, and continues walking.

Of course, the smile doesn't fade from his face the whole time.

However, he doesn't know what image society has created for him.

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><p><em>He can't do anything as he falls.<em>

Time is up once again, the never ending cycle continues no matter how much I wants it to stop.

Freedom is once again taken unfairly from my clutches.

I stride into the cafe and smile weakly at the friendly guy. "My usual," I say politely with a wave of my hand. He nods. Chocolate mocha and ice goes into the blender, complete with a generous helping of caramel sauce. I watch in fascination as the liquid swirls about rapidly. Soon, it's finish.

I take a huge swig of my drink, and a tingling- new-found energy- it fills my veins. I catch a glimpse of myself from the glass wall.

What I see isn't...

Someone who's weak.

Someone's who's helpless.

Someone who has given up on life.

What I see, though, is...

Someone who's strong, independent, capable of making his own decisions.

I am in charge of my own life, and nothing will change that.

David Guetta's "Titanium" plays in my mind, over and over again.

_"Ricochet, you take your aim"_

_"Fire away, fire away"_

_"You shoot me down, but I won't fall,"_

_"I am Titanium"_

_"I am Titanium"_

_"I am Titanium"_

I can finally escape from my nightmare.

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><p>-At the pharmacist-<p>

At the counter, he stares at the clerk hopefully, eyeing the bottle of painkillers positioned behind him, on a shelf.

Taking a deep breath, he speaks.

"Do you have anything that will help me achieve analgesia?"

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><p>The head of the WBBA, Ryo, glances around at the bladers before sighing, a sombre expression on his face.<p>

"We are gathered here today to mourn the unfortunate demise of Dynamis Hikari, who passed away due to an overdose of painkillers. He was a great friend to all of us, excelling in his blader skills and several other areas. I am sure he would be a valuable asset to our society. Let us observe a moment of silence in his memory."

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><p>Ha... a moment of silence. That would be good. I appreciated that.<p>

_"You shoot me down, but I won't fall."_

_I am now truly free._

_~Diary entry 128, from Heaven_

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><p><strong>I know it's a sad ending. I wrote it because I'm really sad, OK? My form teacher in class is mad at me for being late and she wants to meet me tomorrow. I hate meeting teachers a lot. Also, I'm kinda terrified of her. She's scary when she's pissed. Secondly, I failed my Literature test. I've never actually *failed* before. Like I was top student in my old school, and I'm an overachiever. And it's even worse because I fooled all my friends into thinking that I'm OK. When they heard my teacher wanted to meet me they were like "O.O are you alright?" And then I just smile and then "Yeah I'm fine." Weird that this is actually like the story. (I am NOT going to commit suicide or do anything stupid like that)<strong>

**On a good note (probably the only good thing that happened this week), I got my CCA (Basically an activity besides academics) trial results. But it's kinda bad in a a way. I only got into bowling. JUST bowling. Now I feel pathetic compared to my friends that got into 3-4 CCAs. *droopy pony ears* AND Aesthetics class is tomorrow. *Shudders* I hate it now. I mean, I like drawing and all, but the teacher hates my class. (In fact, all form teachers hate me)**

**Replies to reviews:**

**Gocty: Thanks for the compliment, and why are you wasting your time on such a stupid cliched poorly-written story? English is my worst subject in school. (Maths is my best) I like writing diary entries. I don't know if this is a happy or sad ending. He died but he's happy... *shrugs* how am I ever able to get into writing club in school?**

**I also have a new fanfic idea that I will (probably) write after Drowning in Darkness. It's called The Soul Exchange. Basically Pluto swaps bodies with Dynamis and all hell is unleashed.**

**Also, I just ****got Instagram. If you have Instagram you can check me out NyxAbsol, I post mainly drawings there. (I like drawing) You'll find out my name though, so please don't dig through the comments. (I'll probably delete that comment anyway) Sorry for making you read those two big chunks of my melodramatic junk up there. Now, critiques welcome and please review. (Also, thanks Cami for that epic song battle thing on Whatsapp! It helped with the depression a little)**


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